


Pretty Picture

by smaragaide



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-07
Updated: 2017-03-07
Packaged: 2018-09-30 11:02:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10161752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smaragaide/pseuds/smaragaide
Summary: A one-shot post Season 6.Just because I felt like it and know it won't happen on the show but I needed some smut in my life today. I re-worked a scene that I liked and wrote before Season 6 and it still kind of works...well, in my twisted romantic mind, it does.Enjoy!





	

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Another hour passed and she was growing tired. Sansa made her decision telling Jon and everyone goodnight and to enjoy the feast. She thanked all the men for their bravery and good will and thus made her way upstairs. Sansa passed the room she had shared with Ramsay and shuddered. She would like to burn everything in that room and lock it forever. She came to her room, the one that used to be her parents and stopped. It was Jon’s room now, for his was Lord of Winterfell and King in the North.

The lords spoke endlessly about the White Walkers, the icy dead that were coming for them all. Some still scoffed at the idea, especially Lord Royce. He was unconvinced and adamant about the joining up with wildlings. The men talked and argued and Sansa couldn’t help but chance a look at Petyr sitting quietly in the back.

The look he gave her when those same lords declared Jon king and not one voice of support for her, was gnawing at her core. Only yesterday they spoke under the heart tree and he confessed himself. He wanted the Iron Throne. Everything he did was with a specific purpose. Even marriage to Ramsay, which appeared to affect him terribly that day when she released her rage upon him with Brienne at her side. He never wavered in his apology and ignorance but Sansa couldn’t see past her fury. He would have died right there if she asked Brienne to cut him down.

Why didn’t she? Something in his eyes stayed Sansa’s hand. Reflecting on it now, after his declaration yesterday afternoon, Sansa remembered the way his eyes held hers as she berated him. Those grey-green eyes, usually filled with ambition and treachery were instead beholden with such sadness. Would Petyr have truly begged for his life if she asked it of him?

Sansa wanted to hurt him in some way that he hurt her by marrying her to Ramsay. Why else did she agree to meet with him in secret unbeknownst to Jon? She wanted to see his face, wanted him to know what Ramsay did to her.

_What do you think he did to me?_

Watching his usually calm mind have to imagine the horrors of what Sansa went through wasn’t as pleasant as she thought. Replaying those images in her mind now were more troubling than ever. His face was sullen and the look in his eyes as he thought about her question… Maybe he did truly didn’t know about Ramsay. All the same, he put her there to be raped and butchered.

Now, he declared his love. Petyr was so certain the North would rally behind her as their rightful heir and queen. Catching his eyes more than once, Sansa did not know what to make of him now. She glanced at him from time to time as the lords discussed ways to defeat the undead and he was constantly thinking. Sansa could see the cogs turning in his head. His carefully crafted game was slipping away from him.

After a time, the ale and wine had taken its toll on the men and most had turned for the drunken worse. Talking with Jon at length, Sansa noticed over his shoulder that Petyr was gone from his spot. She searched the room for his finely woven, gold doublet and found him nowhere. Lord Royce was deep in his cups with his men of the Vale and Sansa couldn’t fathom that Petyr would want to converse with anyone else here. Excusing herself, she told Jon she was tired and thanked a few of the lords, making her way to the portly Royce. They would return to the Vale to discuss terms with Robin. Petyr would certainly go for the boy adored him. Even Royce knew that no one but Petyr would be able to convince the young Lord of the Vale to join with Jon. It wasn’t a treaty with Robin Sansa was worried about all of a sudden. It was the idea that Petyr was leaving and he hadn’t said a word to her about it.

She had not spoken to Petyr privately since yesterday and her feet carried her to his room. Sansa stood in front of his door and wondered why she was here. He was leaving for the Vale soon and she wouldn’t have to deal with his double talk again if that’s what she wanted. Did she want him to go?

Sansa raised her hand to knock and paused. What if Petyr was asleep or if he did not wish to see her? Sansa didn’t know why his possible rejection made her chest hurt. Did Petyr really care about her or was it all a game that did not end in his favor? Sansa needed answers and chose not to announce her arrival by opening the door.

“I don’t need anything more, tonight. If you’ll please leave and not disturb me,” Petyr grumbled from the wooden tub that was steaming with hot water. His back was to the door and he didn’t know it was Sansa. Not very wise, Sansa thought. Anyone could have entered and killed him before he knew what was happening.

That struck a chord in her mind. Petyr was not a stupid man and did not make mistakes such as that concerning his own welfare. Did he not care anymore? This was not the same man and it bothered Sansa more than she wanted to accept.

She closed the door and stood watching in silence. Between the fire and the steam, the room was rather warm. Sansa smiled in spite of herself. Petyr had lived in the south for so long he had grown quite accustomed to the warm climate. Something hard to come by this far north.

A wet arm raised and ran fingers through his greying hair as his head leaned back. Petyr lifted his left arm to rest on the edge of the tub and sighed.

She took a few steps and his voice startled her.

“If you’ve come to kill me, then get on with it while the bath water is still warm,” he growled.

Sansa smiled. Petyr would be a sarcastic arse until the very end.

“If I wanted you dead, you would already be dead,” she answered lightly.

“Which sparks my curiosity,” he teased refusing to turn around as she walked towards him. “Would _you_ do it or have someone else dirty their hands with my blood?”

Sansa knelt behind him and smiled, “Why would there have to be blood? I could strangle you or drown you in this bath.”

“Could you? You think you’re stronger than me?” he japed. “Or that I would just let you take my life so easily?”

“Easy? No, it wouldn’t be easy,” she replied sweetly. “Nothing in regards to you is easy. I could ask any man downstairs to dispatch you if…”

This time Petyr turned his head to look at her. His eyes were weary and that cursed smile of his echoed their sorrow. He leaned his head back against the tub again and closed those grey eyes. It wasn’t lost on Sansa that he was completely naked and bathing. With his eyes shut, she was tempted to look down but refrained. She knew what a man’s body looked like now, surely Petyr’s wasn’t much different.

“Then what are you waiting for? I’m too tired to fight you,” Petyr breathed. “Give my apologies to Lady Brienne, I’m sure she’ll be irritated that she missed this moment.”

The water from his bath was steaming as the fire crackled in front of them. What was she waiting for? Her intention wasn’t to murder him tonight. She could see his gilded dagger laying on his neatly folded clothing on the bed. What were Petyr’s intentions now? She was not queen and no longer would have control over Winterfell. Everything he was working for was falling apart. She refused his kiss, his advance, his offer to be his queen.

_It’s a pretty picture._

Why did she say that? What bothered her since that moment was the idea that she was in his thoughts all along. Everything he planned was not just for him, but for both of them. In Petyr’s eyes, she was his queen. Unless, he was lying again. Littlefinger was nothing but the king of lies, she reminded herself.

That day in the Eyrie, she was certain she knew he wanted her but then he gave her to Ramsay. How many times before seeing him again did Sansa tell herself she was wrong about him… he didn’t want her after all. He married her to a monster. That knowledge hurt more than anything. She trusted him and yet, in the end he still came for her. He brought an army for her. And he didn’t ask for anything in return. No reward for his loyalty and efforts. Sansa had expected him to ask for her hand in return for saving her and Jon.

_I only acted if the answer was ‘yes’._

A pretty picture. Those words still bothered her. She could have said anything else in refusing him. He was going to kiss her. He wanted to kiss her terribly. Her gloved hand felt the beat of his heart, holding him at bay. Why was it ‘pretty’? A picture of us. A picture of the future.

Sansa dipped her hand into the water cupping the liquid and poured it over his head, wetting his dark hair.

“Why?” she asked before realizing she even spoken aloud and repeating the same action as the water spilled over his face.

“Why what?” he replied.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked running her fingers through his silken hair.

“To be clean. That’s generally what baths are for or am I mistaken?” he japed making Sansa frown. She was not in the mood for his jokes. One more crack and she would drown him right now.

“Why did you really come back? Was it for me or yourself?” she inquired.

“Does it matter?” he sighed pushing her hand away.

“Yes,” Sansa insisted and rested her arm on the edge of the wooden tub.

Petyr opened his eyes and studied her for a moment. “Why? Why does it matter to you now?”

“Don’t answer me with questions,” she admonished him.

“You’ve already made up your mind, haven’t you? So asking is rather rhetorical. What it is that you want me to say?” his voice lowered and prickled with tension.

“Tell me the truth,” she pressed him.

Petyr chuckled darkly, “The truth, she says. At least your timing is splendid, sweetling… Catching a man at his most vulnerable in his bath and threaten him with death, just to hear the truth.”

“Ugh, why must you be so caustic?” she groaned splashing the hot water in his face but Petyr grabbed her arm pulling her across until she was so close, she could see the green flecks in his eyes and the fine creases that told his age.

“Because the last time I was honest with a woman I cared for, I almost died for it,” he breathed harshly and released Sansa, pushing her away. “Never again, I promised myself,” Petyr huffed avoiding her eyes.

Sansa sat back and the firelight made his pale skin glow. For the first time, she could see a deep and ugly scar that began at his collarbone, travelled down his chest and disappeared into the water. It looked as though he had been practically sliced in two.

“Handsome, isn’t it?” his voice echoed with sarcasm and Sansa lifted her eyes as her face flushed. “We all have our scars, don’t we?” Petyr paused and stared at her for a moment before adding, “I wish I could have saved you from yours. But the question is, would you be the woman you are now if not for those terrible times?”

Petyr picked up the goblet of wine sitting next to the tub and swallowed it.

“For better or for worse, our scars make us who we are,” he muttered more to himself than Sansa.

At first, she was ready to strike him for saying such a thing knowing what Ramsay did to her, but Sansa had to think of it for a moment. Would she have changed had she been spared it all or would she still be the girl with dreams of knights and flowers coming to take her away?

Petyr seemed to read her very thoughts when he spoke again in remembrance.

“I can still see you that day of the tourney. Fresh and sweet with eyes full of wonder and excitement. You dreamed of love and a handsome prince in a faerie castle. You were so young then….”

His voice drifted as his eyes glazed a bit, studying her now.

“You would never believe how very much like you I used to be,” he breathed. “We both dreamed of love and beauty, believed in those faerie tales that all could be conquered if we only believed in love.” His brows creased into a frown, “Unfortunately, reality was a harsh lesson to learn.”

“What did you do to deserve that?” Sansa asked gesturing to his scar.

“This?” he chuckled drunkenly, “This was my reward. A reminder of what happens to naïve, stupid boys that don’t know their place and foolishly believe in love. Have you not heard the tale from your mother?”

“I knew nothing of you, until the day we met,” she replied truthfully.

Petyr reached to fill his goblet with wine, but Sansa was quicker and tossed it aside. He had enough and needed to be sober to answer her questions tonight.

“Ah, it is a story you will never read in those fables for children,” he jested. “For who wants to hear about the boy who was cut down when there are more heroic tales of the boy that beat the giant for his lady love? I read all those stories too, sweetling. I blindly believed that I could fight and defeat a man twice my age and size. All for love… and I was very much in love. Do you remember your first love, Sansa? When I came to foster at Riverrun, a boy with nothing and for the most part treated as a part of the family… an equal, until I overstepped my lowly bounds, that is. Cat was my entire world. My first kiss. I mistakenly believed she loved me too, when her father arranged the marriage with Brandon Stark. I thought love would be my armor. I believed those stories and knew I could win even though I had never picked up a sword in my life.”

Petyr smiled at her sadly and Sansa was beginning to understand.

“You said you loved my mother,” she asked. “You fought for her, didn’t you? Is that why you saved me, because I remind you of her?”

Petyr leaned his head back and closed his eyes again and Sansa thought that he wasn’t going to answer her for a moment.

“When I saw you at the tourney, I could have sworn you were Cat,” he whispered. “You looked so very much alike that I was taken back to those days at Riverrun.” Petyr glanced at Sansa with heavy lidden eyes. “Perhaps, in the beginning, yes.. but you are your own woman, Sansa. Stronger and wiser than your mother had ever been.”

“So you thought you could keep part of her by having me, is that it?” Sansa frowned. “A poor substitute for a woman that never wanted you? I see, now. Can’t have the mother… well, why not the daughter?”

“If that is what you wish to believe, so be it. I’m willing to bet your fancied yourself in love with Joffrey once before you knew what he was. Loras, perhaps?” he smiled thinly. “Yes, I loved your mother. I fought for her and each time Brandon struck me down, I got up again. I was willing to die for her if it meant saving her. What I didn’t realize until later, that she never loved me and I dueled for nothing and Brandon left me with this reminder of who and what I would always be. Nothing and never good enough for a lady of your mother’s station. She was meant to marry well, just as you were. Family, duty, honor…. _rubbish_.”

“Dreams blinded me a fool but reality awakened me to the truth. Lord Tully may have fostered me along with his children, but I was not and never would be equal in their eyes. Had Jon, a lowly bastard, fought for you against… well, if Joffrey had a pair of balls to begin with and possessed physical strength and skill, but I digress. You would have still chosen Joffrey, wouldn’t you? Family, duty, honor and not to mention the bonus of becoming the future queen.”

Sansa stared at him and didn’t know what to say to that. Petyr was right. She would have still chosen Joffrey. She was furious at Arya when her wolf bit him and blamed her for Lady’s death. Sansa was hypocrite if she thought she would have done otherwise had she been in her mother’s shoes. No well-bred or high born lady would choose someone like Petyr.

“Like your mother,” he continued. “I believe you would have stopped Brandon from killing a lovesick boy. Regardless of honor or duty, you are kind and compassionate women.  I don’t know if your mother was right in doing so considering all that I have become, but she did stop him all the same. Instead, I was left with this and bitterness of my own awakening. Make of it what you will.”

Sansa gazed at that massive scar and wondered how he ever survived it. It must have taken forever to heal. Then it hit her, that scar had never healed. It was engrained in his psyche as it was permanent on his body.

“You told me once that… life was not a song and someday I would learn that to my sorrow,” Sansa whispered his words back to him. “You taught me to play this game. That once I know what a man wants, I know who he is and how to move him. I thought I knew what I wanted and none of it was real or true. I would have been miserable with Joffrey. To think I actually admired and wanted to be like Cersei once…” Sansa scoffed. “I wanted to get away from Winterfell and my family. I wanted that dream of flowers, love and my prince, but it was a lie. There were no knights in gleaming armor coming to my rescue. I never would have believed, when I arrived in the capital, that I would long for home more than anything nor be mourning the loss of my family and find myself alone.”

Petyr sighed and rubbed his face. “You are a strong and courageous woman, Sansa. You deserve love and happiness. Perhaps now, that you are back home, you will find it.”

“Did you find what _you_ were looking for? That picture in your mind?” she asked softly. “Is power the only thing that matters to you? Or was it turning me into my mother?”

“You are not your mother,” Petyr said, his eyes stern.

“But you wanted me to be, didn’t you? You never answered my question,” she added the pressure.

“No,” he answered quietly. “You are so much more. I would like to think she would be proud at how strong you have become. However, she and your father would not approve of you being in my company, of course.”

“Surely, you would be right in that,” Sansa smirked. “As it is, they are not here and I must make my own decisions now.”

“That you must,” Petyr’s sorrowful smile continued to eat away at her. “You have good counsel now. I’m sure you will fair well. If you need any advice, I will be at your disposal.”

“So, just like that… that’s it? You want nothing more?” she wondered aloud.

“What I want is inconsequential, sweetling,” he muttered. “The game has changed. If what Jon says is true, I would not be able to barter and buy my way out of death if that army of the dead heads into the rest of Westeros. The only use I can be to you is hopefully gather enough people to fight this hoard. If I have to buy every Valyrian sword and piece of dragonglass, I suppose I saved my gold for something.”

It wasn’t everything though.What about the Lannisters? Cersei? Did he not care about them and the Iron Throne anymore? He would have a difficult time seizing it now with Jon in power.  There had to be something more. He was leaving because he believed she wanted him to, rejected him and that was the hardest question. Did Sansa really want Petyr to leave? She could think of a million reasons to send Littlefinger away, but a nagging, deep down in her gut said he should stay for several reasons…some logical, keeping the smartest man in Westeros close by and yet, watching him now…

“There’s one more thing I want to know,” Sansa stared him down, not letting Petyr break that contact. “On your ship, you told me you wanted everything. What did you mean?”

To her surprise, he chuckled and grabbed a large linen cloth next to his bath. Standing up quickly, he draped it around himself and padded towards the fire.

“Of all the questions you could ask me,” he laughed softly, “and you ask the one you already know the answer to.”

“If I knew, I wouldn’t have asked,” Sansa fumed, standing up and marching over to him.

Petyr turned to her and grabbed her upper arms, pulling her closer to him. Beads of water trickled down and glistened in the light of the fire. That angry scar more prominent as it dug down to just above his navel.

“Then you were calling my bluff in your room at the Eyrie? Yesterday? Toying with me? Please tell me, since you know me so well” he inquired, his eyes wide.

Sansa was stumped and then it flashed in her mind. So many memories of their conversations over the years. The day of the inquiry with the Lords Declarant when he saved him.

_You think you know me?_

I know what you want.

_Do you?_

Under the heart tree…

_I thought you knew what I wanted._

I was wrong.

_No, you weren’t._

Sansa searched his eyes in wonder. Did she know what he truly wanted? He wanted power and position, to see those that ridiculed him, fall. Petyr did not want to feel pain or weakness again. He had built up walls around him for years to protect him. He didn’t care – wouldn’t allow himself to care for anyone. Letting someone in, would open those wounds… make him weak. _She_ made him weak. She was making him care again. Did she really know him? Understand him?

Back then, Sansa thought it was nothing more than simple lust on his part. Perhaps that was true as well, but he never forced himself on her. In fact, Petyr did nothing more than twice kiss her, and chastely at that. He had whores and brothels, but somehow Sansa knew he wouldn’t touch any of those women. He wanted something more, something pure. He wanted her. To give her power, intelligence and strength. He wanted her to see him as a man that valued her and not something to keep in his bed. He had been teaching her this whole time what it took him a lifetime to learn. Petyr wanted her to be self-reliant and smart. She needed to use her skills the best she could just as he did. Neither of them would ever wield a sword, so they had to use their best weapon, their brain and manipulations. Perhaps, he was training her to be a queen all this time.

And what do you want?

_Everything._

“What is _everything_?” she demanded softly.

Petyr didn’t loosen his hold on her and searched her eyes as if debating whether to tell the truth and let the cards fall where they may. She could see the wall breaking that he had built so many years ago.

He took a deep breath and released it as if a weight of a thousand stones came crumbling down between them.

“You,” he sighed. “ _You_ are everything to me.”

Sansa couldn’t move or look away from him. It sounded lovely, something she would have loved hearing from a man when she was younger. No, he didn’t do this for her. This wasn’t about her.

“You gain everything you need to win your damned game _through_ me, you mean,” she growled deeply. “You needed me to hold the North… not for myself, but for _you_.”

Sansa pushed him away as she started pacing the floor.

“What was your next move, Petyr, after killing Ramsay, taking back Winterfell for me? Hmm? What, were you going to marry me next?” she berated him but Petyr only stood motionless. “You came to be my knight and savior… and in return, I would marry you and give you Winterfell and the North. You would have control of everything all the way down to Harrenhal, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes,” he sighed and didn’t shy away from looking straight at her.

“You didn’t do this for me,” she seethed. “This has always been about you. Too bad your calculating mind didn’t see past Stannis and Ramsay. You never planned on Jon, did you? Now, that he’s here, your plans are shot to the seven hells and back.”

“If it weren’t for Jon, we’d never know of the threat heading towards us, would we? None of this would matter in the slightest for we all would be dead,” Petyr smirked. “As I said, the game has changed. Political manipulation will not work on the un-dead. No deal or bargain can be made with gold and lands.”

“That’s not the point,” she groaned. “You used me and hoped I would never figure it out. You played on my emotions hoping I might feel something for you if you saved me once again, is that it?”

Petyr leaned against the cool stone as the heat from the fire slowly dried his skin.

“Sansa, would you have ever considered me otherwise?” he asked with an exasperated voice. “I am not young and handsome like Loras. I cannot duel, joust, or sing sonnets to win your favor. All I can give you is what I am and it isn’t much. Instead of flowers that would wilt and die, I gave you knowledge that will last you a lifetime. I am not a man that can wield a sword, but I can teach you how to wield your mind and strengths in better ways. Everyone underestimated you, _except me._ They never knew how smart and strong you could be. They wanted to keep you a silly girl, ignorant of the world while they took everything you had. You don’t think the Tyrells would have wasted the opportunity to take your rights and lands while they shut you away in High Garden, did you? Did you really believe Margery befriended you by happy accident? There were all playing a game and how to best use you.”

“Just like you?” she added sarcastically and Petyr frowned.

“If I wanted to keep you unaware, since it would have benefitted me the greatest, I would have,” he challenged. “Why gamble with teaching you everything I know? I could have showered you with gowns, jewels… whatever your heart desired. I could have fucked you that first night sailing to the Vale, if that’s all I wanted from you. A jewel’s fire burns cold, and even the finest silk cannot wrap you in love and warmth. I’ve learned that.”

“You wanted Winterfell and I was the key,” Sansa grumbled. “You made me believe it was for my benefit.”

“Wasn’t it?” he smiled. “Staying in Kings Landing would have killed you. You would have died slower still in loneliness at High Garden and Lysa never wanted you at the Eyrie. Bringing you home was the only option. The young girl that left here years ago, would have never been able to do what you have these past months. Whatever you may think of me, you are a stronger woman now and are beholding to no one. You will never have to marry if you don’t wish to in order to secure your lands or title. You should be the Queen in the North. That’s what you deserve and I won’t apologize for it. If it weren’t for you, they would all be dead by Ramsay’s hand. Those men downstairs have no idea of the mistake they are making. That boy isn’t half the leader you are. If you’re content being just the sister, only waiting to be married off again to make an alliance with the Vale or some other house…I suppose you have everything you need right here.”

Sansa sat down on the bed and exhaled in frustration, “Except trust. Knowing the world as I do now, how will I ever trust anyone again? You can’t unlearn a thing…perhaps ignorance is bliss.”

“We cannot afford ignorance in this world, sweetling,” Petyr muttered. “Ignorance is what gives power to others. Ignorance is what gets you killed.”

“And what am I to live for? If I can never trust or love again in fear of being used… what is the point of existing day to day? I don’t want to end up like you or Cersei. Alone, afraid and bitter,” she whispered to herself. “What good is a throne? It will never love you back and someone younger and smarter is only waiting in the wings to take it from you. I don’t want to be used ever again for anyone’s gain.”

“You are wise beyond your years,” he sighed and Sansa glanced at his lean frame by fire. “I wish… we could have met in another world… another time. I think we would have liked each other before the harsh world changed us forever. We’re very similar you and I. Dreamers…” He smiled sadly as he gazed at her. “I would have blissfully spent my life making you smile instead of the pain, hurt and distrust I see in your eyes now… that loss of innocence. We should never hurt the ones we love.”

“You love me so much, that you married me to another man,” Sansa grimaced. “Why didn’t you just marry me instead of Aunt Lysa? You had Harrenhal by then and titles.”

Petyr surprised her and chuckled deeply. “Oh sweetling, I tried. Title and lands do not change who you are those that will always consider you low-born and worthless. Funny, when I was mending from that fateful duel, all I could think about is if I were high-born, if I had wealth, lands, title and power. I could have won Cat.”

Sansa sat confused. He tried? What did that mean?

“After Joffrey disposed of your engagement, I asked Cersei for your hand. Even I, Master of Coin, Lord of Harrenhal and Paramount of the Trident wasn’t good enough for a traitor’s daughter in their eyes. They didn’t want you, divested you of title and your birthright and pushed you aside for a new queen… but you were still important and thus wed to Tryion. Once again, I was never good enough. Wealth and title bought me nothing of value.”

“It bought you Lysa,” she quipped and felt a ping of jealousy.

“And I hated every waking moment of it,” Petyr growled. “The Vale was the next stepping stone in getting you home. If you think I enjoyed kissing or bedding Lysa, you are sorely mistaken.”

“But she loved you, didn’t she?”

“That isn’t love, sweetling,” he sighed in resignation. “That is obsession with a fantasy.”

“How is that different from what you’ve done with my mother and me?”

That hurt him, Sansa felt. The pain on his face was more than evident. After a few moments, Petyr nodded solemnly and stared at the floor.

“Yes, you’re right, my dear,” he acquiesced. “Cat was the catalyst for my bitter journey and my love for you, what I wished could be… is unrequited. To think, a man of my years – only a fool, would blindly hope for the love of a beautiful girl such as you after everything I’ve done to her.”

Her chest heavy, a pain burned and she didn’t know what to make of it…of him. Suddenly, Sansa realized her heart was breaking as she observed him. Here is what lay underneath his mask. A man that wanted to be loved for who he was and could never be. If all things had been equal, and her mother still refused him, would Petyr be the devious and manipulating, resentful man he was today? He had been told his entire life, he was never good enough no matter how he strived to rise in the world that detested him merely for his birth.

As Alayne, Sansa had only begun to realize what it was to be looked down upon. Sansa had always been born to privilege and never knew what it was like to be born as anything else. Even when her father was executed and deemed a traitor, she was still accepted due to her family and heritage. Petyr, try as he might even to the wealth and title he had now, was still an outsider. The way the Lords Declarant treated him was clear to their distaste of how someone so low could marry the Lady of the Vale.

Sansa understood now why he was tearing it all down. Petyr could have put himself on the throne but never would have any of them respected him. Even with a crown on his head, he would forever be the boy from The Fingers. Petyr didn’t want the Iron Throne. He wanted to burn it all down and start anew.

Now, with Jon’s crowing and terrible news from the north, nothing seemed to matter much to Petyr anymore. If they couldn’t stop the white walkers, there would be nothing anyway. This was a fight that he did not know how to manipulate and plan. What use was a man such as him in a war that needed him to be something he was not. Petyr was used to being ten steps ahead of everyone and knowing how to move each piece on the board. Now, he was facing a game he did not know how to play, let alone win and Sansa could see it eating at his core. He was always in control and now that control was gone, looking into a realm of uncertainty.

Sansa stood up and walked over to him. He was not young anymore but Petyr certainly wasn’t old. He was still in his prime. Unlike many men his age, he did not show harsh signs of it. He was lean, but not braun. There was age to him but he wasn’t saggy or wrinkled. Despite the fine lines on his face, he seemed at most times much younger than he was. Shocking him completely, Sansa slipped her arms around his waist and embraced him tightly. For the life of her, Sansa didn’t even know why she did it. It was just instinct.

This feeling was strange, she thought as she held him. It was not the excited flutter she felt with Loras and those childish fancies. Joffrey didn’t love her, Loras would never love her… it was this man, one that she never would have expected, that wanted so much to be loved. Not just by any woman, but her and her alone. Petyr was right, Sansa never would have ever considered him. Petyr was not the knight or handsome prince she dreamed of. He was not a good man in regards to what he had done. He cheated, lied, manipulated and even murdered for his own selfish desires. Whether she liked it or not, Petyr changed her and she could never change back. Sansa could never be that innocent little girl again and frankly; she wasn’t sure she would want to.

Never had a man bared his soul to her. He worked so hard to get to this point and yet, he was giving it all up in hopes that she might find some happiness. Petyr was letting her go. He said he never wanted to be honest with a woman again, and yet this was probably the most honest and pure he had ever been in his life. He had finally let her in, to see him as he really was.

Sansa felt the rise and fall of his bare chest when suddenly his arms tentatively wrapped around her, holding her to him. His hand drifted up until his fingers had tangled them in her hair and she could feel his cheek rest on top of her head. Petyr was not her dream prince… he was just Petyr. A man that saw what no one else could see in her. He believed in her. Praised her for her intelligence and strength, not empty compliments to her beauty and lady-like charms. In the deepest part of her heart, Sansa knew, he loved her. Petyr loved her so much, he was now willing to walk away.

In this moment, Sansa couldn’t love another. When he left her weeks ago, all she could think of was him. Wished and prayed that he would take her away from here. Sansa wanted to hear his voice, those praises, their witty battle of words and wills. He had become so much of the reason why she was the woman she was now. Even with Jon here, Sansa didn’t know what to do without Petyr. She needed his advice and teachings. She needed him, this terrible, treacherous man. She couldn’t imagine loving another man.

“Look at me,” Petyr murmured and Sansa pulled head away from his chest. His hand cupped the back of her neck holding her inches from his face. She could feel tears threatening to pool in her eyes and knew he sensed it by the way he gazed at her. “Oh sweetling, this is the most precious thing you could ever give me,” he smiled sadly, wiping away a traitorous tear. “But don’t shed tears for a man like me. When I leave…”

Petyr tried to step back, but Sansa wouldn’t let him.

“I don’t want you to go,” she whispered, bracing her hands on his back.

Petyr frowned, casting his eyes down. “Please don’t ask me to stay, Sansa,” he sighed. “I’ll atone for my mistakes, and I’ll never be able to erase what he did to you, but… don’t make me endure a cruelty worse than death.”

“Cruelty?”

“One day, all this pain is going to fade into a distant memory,” Petyr breathed caressing her face. “One day, you’re going to fall in love with a young man. You will marry, have many children and be blessedly happy. One day, you will forget all of this, and even me…”

A strange and pained look came over his face.

“I beg of you… please don’t make me witness it.”

His thumb wiped away another stray tear, as his eyes traced her face, as if remembering every line, imprinting it on his memory.

“Let this bitter, old man have a sweet memory of one of your kisses instead?” he asked, expecting to be rejected once more. “Just one, Sansa. A real kiss.”

The wine was strong on his breath as his head dipped slowly, asking for permission. Hot tears stung her eyes when his lips closed over hers, feeling the warmth of his mouth. His hand gave a gentle pressure on the back of her head as Petyr deepened his kiss. Sansa was lightheaded and held onto him for support. Her arm wound about his neck as his found its way around her waist. His breath was hers and when the tip of his tongue touched her own, Sansa gasped, pulling away. Her eyes mirrored the surprise and lust in his. Petyr’s grey-green eyes were dark and hazy and his breathing labored as her chest brushed his.

Sansa stared at him in wonder and faltering whether she should pull away or not. If he kissed her again, she would be lost. This was the point of no return, Sansa knew it as she gazed at his lips. She wanted him to kiss her, that much was certain, but it would define them forever. If she stepped away now, Petyr would let her and he would never try to kiss her again. However, leaping into the unknown with this man, there was no telling where it would lead. This was trust. Right here and now. There couldn’t be love without trust.

She felt his hold slacken, and Sansa feared he had decided for her in her hesitation. It was in his eyes, that resignation and rejection he dreaded so. Petyr praised her courage, and yet here she was, a coward. No, this is where she had to prove him right and wrong. This was the only man that truly understood her and she had to decide whether to send him away for good or discover where this might lead.

Her fingers grazed his jaw, rough with stubble and leaned up until their lips met again. This time, Petyr gasped which only emboldened her to kiss him deeper. Her only experience, really, was Joffrey and that was nothing compared to this. Ramsay, thankfully, never kissed her, never did anything except cause her pain and fear. She died a little, every time he touched her. Petyr’s touch was the complete opposite.

Each gesture, movement of his hands silently asked a question. His mouth was gentle as he explored and let her grow accustomed to this new intimacy. His moustache tickled slightly, but his lips were soft as he coaxed her to open to him. The moment his tongue touched hers, a moan escaped deep in her throat and Petyr wanted to hear that sound again.

Their tongues danced languidly as their breathing became harsher and labored making Sansa pull away slightly to catch her breath. Petyr’s eyes were black with desire and it caused a low throbbing in her core. Was this what sinful yearning felt like? Sansa wanted nothing more than to have Petyr kiss her forever. When he leaned in again, threading his fingers in the fine hairs at the nape of her neck, this time his lips found a different target underneath her ear and jaw.

If Sansa thought kissing his mouth was lovely, the spot he suckled on was almost torture in how good it felt. She could feel herself falling a bit to the sensation when he pressed her body against his in a way that didn’t conceal its meaning. His hand drifted down, cupping her backside which only aided that mild throbbing.

Painfully aware that he was wearing next to nothing, Sansa couldn’t stop her hands from exploring his back. His skin was smooth and lightly damp while those fingers felt muscles move and respond to her touch. Petyr’s mouth traversed the expanse of her neck and found a home just above her collarbone making her arch into him. The sound he made sent chills down her spine and her hand automatically went to the back of his head, holding him there.

This is what desire and lust was. Sansa had never felt it before and now she ached wantonly for it. Before she realized it, his hand cupped her breast, while the other had unclasped the front of her dress accidentally grazing a pert nipple. It was if every nerve responded to him and it scared her a bit.

Petyr raised his head and their eyes met. His were dark and heavy lidden while hers were wide with anticipation and hesitation. His hand slipped inside and felt her small waist covered by the chemise. He was asking permission but Sansa wasn’t sure if this was a good idea or not. If she let him continue, she knew where it would lead and that scared her. Images of what Ramsay did and made her do flashed in her mind. It hurt. Every single time, it hurt and the shame and humiliation she felt….

“Don’t think of him,” his voice uttered in reverence and Sansa came back to the present. Petyr wasn’t Ramsay but she couldn’t shake those horrible feelings no matter how gentle he was with her. Petyr knew what she was thinking and couldn’t help but love him a little for that. He knew and understood, reading her mind.

The hand that had cupped her breast was now at her chin.

“Do you wish to leave?” he asked tenderly.

Did she? Sansa didn’t know. Just moments earlier, she was thoroughly enjoying what he was doing to her. That ache was dulling but if she wanted it back, what did that mean? Sansa remembered all those silly gossip that young girls were not supposed to hear. What was so wonderful about what happened in the bedroom that they all swooned about? When Ramsay took her, there was nothing pleasurable or wonderful about it. It was pain. Her mother said it would hurt the first time, but if her husband was considerate enough, the act could be very pleasurable for the woman. Sansa thought it was all a lie. It never stopped hurting each time he took her. Sansa felt like she was being ripped in two.

Yet, now as Petyr held her in his arms and kissed her, she felt a pooling of desire between her legs and didn’t know where it came from.

“Why do men enjoy this so much and yet it’s painful for us?” she echoed the thought in her head.

The hand on Sansa’s waist pulled her into him and she could feel his breath on her shoulder.

“Oh sweetling, what did he do to you?” his pained voice murmured against her skin. He didn’t want to hear her say it, but he seemed to already know.

Petyr leaned back and brushed a strand of hair from her forehead.

“Many men are only consumed with their own pleasure. They want to believe you are enjoying it too, but could care less if you are. That’s why my brothels were so profitable. Plenty of women pretending they loved it only to give the man pleasure and nothing more.”

“So it’s not pleasurable to women,” Sansa answered the question in her mind.

“On the contrary,” he smiled a little. “It’s very pleasurable with the right lover. A man that knows where to touch,” his hand returned to her breast, circling her nipple making it harden quickly. “Where to taste,” and his mouth slid along her neck. “How to draw every bit of ecstasy...”

His hand drifted from her waist, along her hip until fingers grazed almost between her legs making her flinch a little.

“I can show you, sweetling,” he breathed under her jaw. “I can make you moan with such beautiful pleasure.”

Two fingers were gently circling just above her apex and that throbbing returned with full force.

“If you could ever trust me in anything, it’s this,” Petyr whispered, taking her earlobe into his mouth. “Let me teach you… take the pain away. Let me please you, Sansa.”

Her hips rocked forward a bit as if trying to add pressure where he was touching. Taking the signal, those digits dipped lower feeling a wetness through the thin layer of her chemise. Gently at first, his skilled hand circled and then pressed a hard nub, sending a jolt through her body.

“Have you every touched yourself, sweetling?” he breathed in her ear all the while both hands never stopped their ministrations. “Let your little fingers slide between your petals and find this dewy rosebud?”

Sansa clutched his shoulders and heard him grunt, whether it was from pleasure or pain, she didn’t care at the moment. The hand massaging her breast had managed to pull the laces far enough that when his skin touched hers, she almost shuddered from the contact.

His lips trailed down until finding that exposed nipple and let his tongue flick it sending another jolt to her where his fingers played. Sansa panted as Petyr suckled her and his fingers worked between her thighs. She felt him groan into her sensitive breast and a hardness press against her hip. He was more than aroused and it made her pause.

This wasn’t Ramsay, it was Petyr. Petyr wouldn’t hurt her like that, she tried to convince herself. He was already making her soar and he had not even removed her clothes.

Petyr felt her still and stopped all together but didn’t release his firm hold.

“Do you trust me?” he asked as if reading her thoughts. “I’m not him. There’s nothing to be scared of with me. I won’t do anything you don’t like. I’ll stop now if you want me to.”

Sansa exhaled and closed her eyes, leaning into him. Did she trust him with her body? Petyr could be sinfully attractive when he wanted to be. There were times she found herself wondering about him in that way. When he kissed her… the way he looked at her… she could even still remember Lysa’s wails of passion ringing in her ears. Sansa convinced herself she wasn’t jealous. And sometimes wondered what he was doing to her.

“Promise me, you’ll stop if I ask you to… that you won’t force me, if I change my mind,” she stuttered nervously.

“I promise, sweetling. I would never force you,” Petyr hummed near her cheek.

After a moment, he took her hand and guided Sansa to the bed. Gently, Petyr pushed the dress from her shoulders and let it shift down until pooling on the floor. The cool air drifted through her shift and she could still feel the wetness between her legs and lingering on her breast.

Pulling the laces slowly, he brushed the material off her shoulders and waited for her to stop him. Sansa took a deep breath and felt his hands slide the material down. She shouldn’t be nervous, she had been naked before a man, but this was Petyr. He was seeing her for the first time and her stomach fluttered. His eyes burned a trail across her skin and immediately her arms came up to cover herself. It wasn’t embarrassment really, but her once beautiful body was now scarred. The bruises faded long ago but Sansa hated looking at herself in a mirror now. What man would want her after seeing such scars? Petyr knew and yet when he looked at her, he was in awe.

Surprisingly, Petyr didn’t move her arms away at all and instead closed the distance, letting her feel his bare body against hers. He had not removed the linen from around his waist as if to make her feel more comfortable. Unlike Ramsay, Petyr’s body was a bit leaner with more hair on his chest that traveled down to his navel. The scar cut through it and Sansa could feel the different textures. His hardness had not diminished and it was thick against her thigh. Just a thin piece of linen separated them now and it put her at ease for a moment.

“You’re so beautiful,” Petyr breathed before taking her mouth again. She was beautiful to him. Not broken. Not some pathetic thing beaten, used up and left for widowhood.

It didn’t take long before her arms that covered her chest protectively had wound around his neck, allowing him to deepen his kiss. Her breasts touched his chest and it was a delicious sensation. She groaned loudly when his hands clutched her bare backside and gently rocked with his own hips. Her pelvic bone pressed against his hardness and that friction of the linen reawakened that lust.

Petyr’s hand caressed around her cheek, his fingers dangerously close to that wetness that was building so quickly. He pulled her thigh up, but the movement caused the linen to fall and all of a sudden she felt him, hard and warm against her hip. He paused again gauging her reaction and Sansa tried to muster a little courage. Her hand drifting down, she brushed him and felt it twitch. Looking at his face, Petyr’s eyes were shut as if trying not to lose control.

Testing the waters, Sansa touched him gently exploring this part of a man. Ramsay was all about control and degradation and she wouldn’t have ever wanted to touch him like this. Petyr let her discover him on her own terms which strangely put her at ease. Such an odd thing; so soft, silken and hard at the same time. How would he feel inside her? Would it still hurt or was Petyr telling the truth, that it was the lover that mattered the most?

Her hand held him firmly feeling the skin move with her. He was thicker in her palm and didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing. Petyr’s breathing quickened and he held her waist as his head fell to her shoulder. A deep moan erupted and suddenly his hand stopped hers.

“Did I do it wrong?” her voice cracked in anxiety.

He chuckled softly, “No, sweetling. It was so right; I was about to… “

Sansa flushed six shades of red. She almost made him finish in her hand. Strangely enough, she felt a shred of power over him in this moment. Just by her hand, she could make him come undone and somehow it was gratifying that she might actually enjoy giving him pleasure.

“This is about you,” he teased and moved her to sit on the bed. “Lie back,” he directed, pushing her further onto the furs.

Petyr didn’t crawl on top of her like she expected, but instead hovered near her chest. Once again his mouth found her breasts and lavished attention on them. His tongue brought her nipples to stiff peaks and that throbbing intensified below her navel. With a look of lasciviousness, Petyr smiled wickedly and kissed down her belly stopping to dip his tongue in the navel. That treacherous tongued drew a line down and around her curls making its way to the inside of her thigh.

Sansa couldn’t take her eyes off him and where that mouth traveled. Never had she heard of a man doing this. Her mother only prepared her for the basics of what would happen between a man and woman, but nothing like this. Her mouth was dry and her chest heaved watching him as he draped her leg over his shoulder.

She was bare before him and tried to close her thighs but he wouldn’t have it. Petyr’s eyes danced around that tender flesh before lowering his head and tasting her.

There was nothing that could prepare Sansa for this sensation and the pure sinfulness of a man’s mouth on her most private of parts. That decadent mouth was hot and wet, feasting on her tender flesh. When he flicked his tongue on that bundle of nerves, Petyr had to hold her hips down that practically flew off the bed. His nose exhaled hotly into her curls as he delved into her folds and Sansa’s eyes almost rolled back. One hand continued holding her hips down when the other teased just below his tongue.

With ease, one finger then two slipped inside and pumped gently with his mouth not tiring in the least. Little by little her inhibitions began to fade as Petyr skillfully worked her to madness. That throbbing now turned to aching and burning to the point where she couldn’t stop her hips thrusting against his mouth. Petyr not only didn’t seem to mind this but looked like he was enjoying it immensely. His eyes never left hers and he began groaning into her thrusting sex. The vibrations were too much and Sansa could feel a coil tightening. It felt so good, that she stopped worrying about the manner of it all. What he was doing was so far out of the realm of decorum, that mere idea of it was making her quake. Suddenly, it happened and she was breaking. Pleasurable wasn’t even the word for this as she threaded her fingers through his hair pulling his face harder against her. The moans were so loud, Sansa wasn’t sure it came from her when finally, she shook and sunk into the bed panting desperately. Where Petyr learned how to do that, she never wanted to know.

Sansa closed her eyes trying to catch her breath when she felt his mouth on hers and he no longer tasted of wine. It was musky and his facial hair was wet as he lowered his body on top of hers. All at once, she realized she was tasting herself on his lips and it was indeed wicked. Sansa was still coming down from that peak when Petyr nestled between her legs and softly rocked his hips. She was so wet, that Sansa could feel herself coating him and knew what he was asking before he even uttered a word.

Petyr was breathless with need, “Do you want me?”

He had her aching again feeling his cock slide against her folds begging to be let in. Ramsay never tried to coax her first and Sansa realized why it hurt every time. That dew, as Petyr called it, is what was needed. Sansa was not aroused by Ramsay and he certainly didn’t care if she was or not. He seemed to enjoy it the more pain he caused her.

“Do you want me to stop?” his voice cut through her thoughts.

Sansa gazed at him. He _would_ stop if she told him to. Even if it hurt a little, Sansa wanted to know what it felt like with Petyr inside her. If it was one tenth the pleasure she just felt, it would all right. She had to know what it was supposed to feel like and she trusted him to be gentle.

“No,” she breathed. “I want to feel you.”

Petyr kissed her deeply and raised his hips just enough so his hand could guide himself to her center. Wetting the crown, he pressed slowly letting her open.

“Easy,” he, told her. “Just relax and let me in.”

Sansa felt her opening stretch for Petyr was bigger than Ramsay, but it wasn’t painful. He didn’t force it and just eased himself in and out, letting her adjust. Petyr’s eyes were piercing and gauged her every move and reaction. He was slow and controlled waiting for her to give him the signals he needed to go on.

He kept his torturously slow pace, pushing deeper a little each time. His hands spread open her legs a bit wider, allowing him to finally bury his cock to the hilt. Sansa could feel her walls clenching him and it forced a deep groan from his lungs.

Finding her mouth again, Petyr kissed her and let his tongue match the steady thrusting of his hips. It wasn’t long before that spike in pleasure began to throb where there were joined and she started mirroring his movements. Sansa never thought it could feel this way. Her body ached for his and responded in kind. This felt right and she grasped his back and narrow waist urging him on.

“Do you trust me?” he grunted, sucking on her neck.

“Yes,” she moaned, letting her hands trail down holding his hips.

“ _Good_ ,” he growled as if he worried she would say no.

Petyr pushed himself up onto his forearms and hooked her knee in the crease of his elbow. Suddenly, he picked up the pace and the friction had her head spinning. Once again, Petyr had complete control as he pumped into her making her arch into him.

This was even better than what he did only minutes ago. The way he thrusted between gentle and then with a hint of roughness was making her want something. What was it? Her body needed something. Faster? Harder? She didn’t know. She felt that coil tighten again but unlike before, there was no release. Instead the pressure kept building and building…

“Oh, gods… more.”

She couldn’t believe her own ears. Her body wanted something, maybe it was because of him, and yet she just couldn’t seem to get there. She looked at Petyr in frustration and saw the determination on his face. His pupils were black with lust but she felt like he was holding back… for her. He didn’t want to hurt or scare her. If it felt this good now, would it be better if she let him go?

He thrust much harder, and that was it. That was what she needed.

“Yes, like that,” she mumbled to him, feeling embarrassed that she wanted him to fuck her.

He did it again, their sexes pounding against each other.

“Is this what you want, sweetling?” he growled thrusting into her harder. “Tell me…”

Sansa whimpered. It still wasn’t enough. Something was missing.

“Here,” he panted and she could tell he was close. Petyr took her hand and placed it where they were joined. She was sopping wet and could feel his cock thrusting into her when she understood. She touched that little nub, pushing it against him as he moved.

“Oh…don’t stop..”

She started to shudder madly. This was a million times more intense and felt herself falling into the abyss. It was almost as if she didn’t want it to happen, but the feel of him and how she was breaking was too much. Her hips thrust back meeting him thrust for thrust and hearing his voice crack was all it took.

Sansa’s eyes rolled back and moaned incoherent things as everything crashed down. She could feel him pulsing inside her as his hips jerked and finally pressed deep a few times before stilling. Petyr’s weight was heavy but comforting. He murmured sweet nothings as she stroked his damp back in complete contentment.

She didn’t know how long they laid there, as her heart settled down and he was breathing heavy from the exertion. He rolled off her and their fluids ran down her thighs. Every time Ramsay took her, Sansa hoped and prayed that she remained childless. Lying next to Petyr, she couldn’t help but wonder. Would she want his child? She would have to marry him then, wouldn’t she?

Just then his head turned and with a satisfied grin, he pulled her to him. The sweat on their bodies was making her cold when he pulled a fur to cover them. For the longest time, it was quiet as he held her, both of them lost in their own thoughts. Sansa could never describe what it was between them or what she felt for him. Was this how it felt to be loved by a man?

“Is that how it’s supposed to be? I mean, that is what it should feel like?” she whispered drawing little circles on his chest.

“ _That_ , sweetling,” he sighed deeply, “is how it should always feel.”

“I’m still angry with you,” she breathed feeling blissfully drowsy. She would sleep well tonight.

“I know.”

“Petyr?”

“Mmhmm?” he muttered sleepily.

“Are you going to leave?” she wondered.

“Do you wish me to go?” he answered, caressing her back lazily.

“I hate it when you do that.”

His hand stopped and Sansa could sense a smile on his face without looking at him.

“Do what?”

“Answer my question with a question,” she grunted.

“Then stop asking stupid questions you know the answer to, sweetling,” he teased going back to stroking her back.

She snuggled deeper into his side and couldn’t ease her mind. This is not what she had planned tonight. Now that Petyr had her, what happened next? Would he be satisfied like most men, winning their prize and then moving on to the next game?

“What happens tomorrow?” she couldn’t help but ask.

“The sun comes up,” he smirked.

“You know what I mean. What is this between us?”

“It depends on you, sweetling,” he murmured, holding her tightly.

“I won’t have you hurting Jon,” she blurted out suddenly. “Not because of me. I’ll kill you myself.”

“Have I even suggested such a thing?” he mocked her playfully.

“No, but I know you. You always have plans within plans, no matter what you say.”

“He’s going to have to seek out the Targaryen queen soon, I suspect. If we’re to fight what’s behind that wall, that is. She has three dragons,” he offered and it surprised Sansa. Why didn’t he tell her this before?

“When were you going to tell me this?” she elbowed him ribs, making him grunt in pain.

“I’m telling you now,” he groaned and took her hand in his. “I fear leaving you here alone. I will stay and send Royce to speak with Robin. Not before I send several ravens to the boy first to instill my meaning since I don’t trust that man at all.”

“Why don’t you go to meet her? You have a way with talking to people? Convincing them?” Sansa wondered even though she didn’t like the idea of Petyr leaving at all.

“Well, in her service is the Spyder and I hear your long, lost dwarf husband,” Petyr frowned. “The Spyder will make sure to turn all against me. He’s the one that made sure you married either Tyrion or Tyrell, just so you know. He will not want you or your brother in my favor. Besides, my place is here with you. Her fleet will arrive in a month or so I hear. Send Jon, gather forces, defeat Cersei and hold the North. Then we can destroy them if we wish.”

“And put you on the throne, is that it?” Sansa huffed and turned away from him. Did he just play her after all to bed her? And now he was still thinking of ways to get what he wanted.

“Not without you,” he turned and held her from behind. “None of this means a damn thing without you. If you want me to stay, I’ll say. Put your half-brother on the Iron Throne? Then that’s what we’ll do. You would make a better queen, my love.”

“I don’t want it. To look over my shoulder for the rest of my days. No. I want peace, Petyr. I’m tired. I want to be left alone… if I can find a little happiness on the way. I’ll take it,” she sighed, letting him hold her.

“Alone?”

Sansa could hear the pain in his voice. She just hurt him. Told him in no uncertain terms she didn’t want him or his machinations but that wasn’t what she meant.

“What did you want when you were a boy?” and felt his arm slacken around her waist. “You didn’t want to be king. You wanted to marry and be happy.”

“I’m not a boy anymore,” he muttered but returned his hold on her, dipping his head into the back of her neck.

“And I’m not a stupid girl, either,” she laced her fingers through his. “I don’t want to be queen, Petyr and I don’t want you to be king. Couldn’t you just love me for me?”

“I already do, sweetling,” he kissed her tender skin.

“Then stay here with me,” she sighed into him. “Let them squabble and fight. I want nothing more to do with it.”

“What are you asking me, Sansa?” the tone is his voice was soothing yet underneath she could hear his intensity. She knew what she was asking of him.

“Paint me a different picture.”

 

 

 


End file.
